His laughs echoed down the hallway.
Martin tackled me to the floor. “Shut up.”
I growled. “What difference does it make? We’re dead anyway.”
“You’re insane! Are you trying to get us killed faster?” He mashed my face into the icy, slippery stone.
Pain ground through my jaw from where the guard had decked me during our street scuffle.
“Stop. Don’t fight, guys,” Zack whimpered.
Martin relaxed his grip but didn’t let go. “I should’ve kicked you out the moment I saw you.”
“But you didn’t because you thought you could use me. Befriend a Vie, have all the luxuries you want, rule your little Anemie kingdom—what was it for? Nothing. And none of it will save you.”
“Shut up,” he barked.
“Where’s your Vie pal now, huh?” I tried to buck Martin off me, but he was way too heavy.
“You survived a raid, a Vie bite, and the toxin. You beat guards. I believe you can get us out.” Zack still clung to foolish hope.
“I only beat them once. Believe something real. There’s no way out,” I mumbled into the stones. “It’s better to piss them off so they kill us quickly. I don’t want to be tortured for hours. Do you?”
With a grunt, Martin moved off me.
Zack said, “They won’t torture us, will they? Martin?”
I sat up, rubbing my wrists. Martin reclaimed his spot against the wall, drawing his knees up to his chest. Zack’s large eyes fixed on me. I retreated to the opposite corner, distancing myself from his sadness and ignorance. None of this should come as a surprise to him.
“They’re going to tear out our throats?” Zack’s voice barely carried across the cell. Maybe he was starting to understand.
“Why do you think they dumped this corpse in here? It’s a taste of what we have to look forward to,” I said.
Zack paled.
“I don’t want to die like this,” Martin said, tears in his eyes.
“Justin?” Zack’s gaze shifted to the slave’s corpse, then to me.
“Everybody dies alone,” I said.
Sammie shouldn’t have.
But I’d left her. And blown every chance to find her.
I deserved this.
Martin and Zack didn’t, though. They shouldn’t have come with me. I’d told them to turn back, but I didn’t push them hard enough. And then I’d used them for my own gain. Like Zack had said, no one was innocent—least of all me.
If anything, I owed it to Zack and Martin to give the Vie a good show. Give meaning to our meaningless lives.
Year 75, Month 5, Day 25, night
carface tied my wrists and ankles so tight it cut off the circulation to my hands and feet. Then he slid a leather belt across my chest to keep me upright and fastened it to the chair’s unforgiving back. My fingers and toes—which had tingled less from the transfusion—throbbed at first then surrendered to numbness. A couple dozen pot lights cast fluorescent beams along the stark white walls and polished marble floors, creating a high contrast effect. The production crew argued over the best angles and lighting changes while a pixieish Vie pointed a camera at me.
Her short blonde hair was spiked with blue tips. Bright teal eye shadow matched her electric irises. Diamond studs pierced her cheeks, creating false dimples and a red teardrop tattoo dotted the space just below her right eye. Her delicate fingers twisted the lens back and forth, testing the zoom. More tats—tribal scrolls and vines—decorated her wrists. Totally above and beyond the above and beyond.
She bent, angling the camera in my face. “Smile.”
I turned away. I had nothing to smile about.
Five other camera operators dotted the space while three Vie sat at a stone table in front of me, their faces as stoic as the surroundings. Everybody and everything stood at right angles to one another, as if chiseled from the same quarry. All except me. I was the only limp form in a sea of rock. Grim expressions and bright eyes regarded me with fury.
Pixie Vie tapped the device in her ear. “Ready.”
Hinges squeaked and a door slammed.
“Good evening, everyone.”
Vincent Marks’ unforgettable voice—smooth and sharp like a razor—drew my attention. Reluctantly, I snapped my gaze to him. Blazes, he was taller than I imagined. And immaculate with perfect hair, teeth, and the best suit I’d ever seen. No wonder people loved him: the epitome of Vie extravagance.
Pixie gave a five second countdown. Now that the ringmaster had arrived, we were ready to start.
I nearly laughed at the idea of millions of Vie watching me right now, anticipating the breaking of a lowly Anemie, an event hosted by none other than the great Vincent Marks. I would’ve laughed, too, if I had the breath to do it. Sweat slicked my palms and forehead. My heart shuddered, eager to escape my chest.
Marks stood next to me, facing the camera, microphone in hand, everything about him measured and symmetrical, from the straightness of his nose to the balanced peak of his styled hair. His only flaw—a small mole—was centered on his cheek, terrified of being out of alignment.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight we have a very special event, brought to you by the most popular brand of blood, Red Springs.” He flashed a brilliant smile. “Sitting here next to me is a captured Anemie,” he hooked an eyebrow at me for effect, “one of the three fugitives wanted for assault and theft. He and his two accomplices were apprehended and now face the Judges for questioning and sentencing.
“To recap for those of you who are unfamiliar with the case—though I’m not sure who hasn’t heard—this Anemie trespassed into the Elite District while wearing a stolen slave uniform. Abarron’s guards intercepted him and his two friends almost immediately, and now he will describe his intentions, and perhaps explain his grandiosity, in real time, right before your eyes.”
He extended his arm, drawing the audience’s attention first to me, and then the panel of three interrogators in front of me.
The Vie in the middle had amber-colored eyes, striped hair, whiskers, and claw-like nails. “You will answer our questions immediately and honestly.” His voice boomed, the vibrations strumming through my bones.
I waited to be compelled by the order, tranced by his superior mental abilities. I felt nothing. Nothing.
Blazes. I thought the failure of Alex’s trance was a fluke. Well, let the show begin.
“I have a question first. Why do you look like a drowned cat?” I asked.
Vincent Marks’ jaw dropped, and his hold on the microphone faltered. A weak smile flashed across his face, uncertain if he’d heard what he just heard, or if he should narrate to diffuse the situation.
The pale-haired Vie to his right pounded a fist on the table. “Silence! You trespassed, stole uniforms, and accosted more than one Elite slave… never mind the guards you outright attacked. And now you sit here and mock us? Clearly, you are severely delusional and experiencing a serious mental defect, no doubt brought on by chronic anemia and aberrant brain development secondary to poor nutrition.”
I rolled my eyes. I never knew Vie liked to talk so damn much.
The dark-skinned Vie on the left chimed in. “Perhaps he is too stupid to have a coherent reason for trespassing.”
Cat Vie held up a hand to quiet the other two, unflustered by my comment. “Describe your intentions in coming to the Elite District.”
Apparently he wanted to continue the game. Okay.
No urge to answer him directly tickled me, so I made something up. I added a half-shrug for fun, though the restraints made it hard to pull off. “I heard it was nice and wanted to take a look around.”
Cat Vie stroked a whisker. “Surely, you wouldn’t be so cavalier with your life and the lives of your friends.”
My friends, who I’d never thought I’d wanted or would ever have. I cleared my throat. “I was looking for my sister and forced Martin and Zack to go. It’s my fault, not theirs. Release them.”
“All transgre
ssions are punished,” he replied, “and your friends are certainly not innocent.”
“But I made them. Punish me double, triple. Please.”
The entire room, weighed by silence, waited. Vincent Marks’ expression softened. He glanced at Pixie for instructions. Had I stumped the great showman?
A breath later everyone picked up the beat. Vincent rushed to the camera for a close up. The Judges calmly waited. Marks’ narration came first. All part of the show.
“This is, dear viewers, what has to be the most unprecedented event in the history of Anemie trials. We’ve all witnessed begging, bargaining, and confessing to things not inquired, but we have never, and I repeat never, at least to my recollection, encountered an Anemie willing to sacrifice himself for others. Others he claims he coerced into vandalism, trespassing, and assault. Let’s check in with the Judges to see how they handle this request.”
On cue, the two Vie flanking Cat Vie stood. He gestured for them to sit down. “Enough. He’s provoking us to kill him quickly, and we have so many questions left unanswered.”
I’d have been proud of myself, except I was in a room full of Vie strapped to a chair and part of a live-action show with my death as the finale.
The Judges sat and Cat Vie took up his interrogation. “Stop diverting the trial. Nothing you say will halt you or your accomplices’ judgments. Anemie, and answer me truthfully, what was your sister doing in the Elite District?”
Again, nothing pushed me to answer.
Surely Vincent Marks would have to comment on the long pause.
“Have you gone mute? I told you to answer my question.” Cat Vie’s voice took on a harsher tone.
Pixie peered around her camera. Vincent and she exchanged non-verbals, eyebrows shrugging at one another in confusion.
Little old me, worthless, useless dreg on the Vie-renovated society, causing such chaos. Yes, they were getting one hell of a show.
I had another gift. I may not be the Bringer of Death, but I could be the Bringer of Truth. Expose some Vie lies. My own form of revenge.
I tightened my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. My fighting rules didn’t apply here. I stood on new ground. Yet my body hummed, primed and ready for war. My voice trembled with adrenaline as I said, “A junkie Vie drank my sister’s blood to get high. Then he kidnapped her, took her to Abarron’s lab, and told me to find him there.”
Cat Vie rose in a blur, pointed to the camera, and yelled, “Shut if off!” even as my words continued to seep into the room, the camera, and the entire city.
Pixie scrambled. Marks’ mouth slumped open.
“What, you don’t want Vie to know how you use Anemies for drugs?” I asked.
Pale Hair launched himself over the table—he practically flew in the air—and clamped a hand over my mouth. My abused jaw screeched from the pressure. “Shut up or I’ll rip out your tongue.” Spittle sprayed my face.
“Is it off?” Cat Vie rounded the table.
“Yes, and we’re on a ten-second delay. They may not have heard,” Pixie replied.
“May not or did not?” Vincent tossed his mic, lobbing it like a knife thrower.
It impaled the wall with a sickening shonk.
Cat Vie shoved Pale Hair out of the way and grabbed hold of my upper arms. His claws dug into my flesh. “Tell me, were your friends witness to such an event?”
I winced. “No. They don’t know anything, I swear.”
He bore into me with his feline stare, fangs exposed, then straightened. “Your behavior is unacceptable and your words treasonous. Tell me, how did you evade detection for so long? Surely, you’ve tempted fate by entering the Elite District before. Is someone helping you?”
“No.”
He squeezed his fingers. “An NCAAR member, perhaps? They are getting quite bold these days.”
“No one helped me.” I gritted my teeth against the pressure. Much more and my bones would crumble.
The dark-skinned Vie, quieter than the rest so far, glided next to Cat Vie. He prodded my neck with a finger then wiped his skin clean with a handkerchief. He grimaced, like I’d contaminated him. Well, he was the one who chose to touch me, not the other way around.
“You have a wound here. What happened?”
I lifted my head, stared him directly in the eye, and said, “He drank from me too. Need any more proof?”
Cat Vie waved him away. “We’re done here. For your outrageous story, little Anemie, you’ll watch your compatriots die. Then you will be tortured and drained just like them.”
et me set the scene: Another bright room, me strapped to a steel table. Vincent Marks leading the camera operators around the room to discuss preferred angles. Pixie nodding or shaking her head in response. More tables lined the wall, filled with various sharp tools, mallets, syringes, and tubing of different lengths.
Marks studied my placement, fist tucked under his chin, thinking.
“No, this doesn’t work. You!” He snapped his fingers at a Vie hovering in a shadow by the door. “Hang him on the hook.”
Scarface jumped to attention. An unfortunately familiar face. After unstrapping me, he hung me by my wrists on a hook suspended from the ceiling. My arms strained to hold my weight, shoulder joints popping from the effort.
Vincent rechecked me with a makeup artist in tow. “We’ve got five minutes while the commercial runs. Darken the circles under his eyes and let’s play up this scar here.” He pointed to my neck. “Are we gagging him?”
The Vie opened a tray-like box that held a couple dozen compartments. Each section contained a different colored makeup. She dipped her fluffy brush into a dark purple and plastered the stuff under my eyes and along my neck. Her hands moved so fast I had a hard time keeping track of them. When she finished, Scarface said, “Let’s hear him scream.”
Vincent nodded. “The audience does enjoy that most.” To me, he said, “Just be sure not to sputter out some psychotic rantings about Vie. It is rather slanderous and we don’t want to upset our viewers.”
Pixie zoomed in on Marks and me. “Rolling in five… four… three…”
Marks took his time introducing me to the audience.
“For those of you just tuning in, Vincent Marks here, bringing you live feed of the exciting conclusion to our most recent Anemie trial. Charged with several crimes, this hardened criminal showed little remorse, flagrantly provoking the Judges and showing minimal respect for our laws. He was, of course, found guilty of all charges and now awaits his punishment. He must be shown that such behavior is not tolerated. And we must show how we respond to it—quickly, ruthlessly—” he pointed a finger in the air to count off, “—and knowing we’ve done so in the name of justice, and above all, our safety.”
He turned toward me, gesturing with his arm. “Looking at this malnourished, scarred, disheveled creature, you may not realize the depths of the danger he represents, but it is true. He. Is. Dangerous. If we shrug off this incident, it will give others like him the impression that these illegal activities are tolerated. It will embolden them. Without the boundaries of vigilance and consequences, Anemies will believe they can undermine the progress we’ve made. This cannot happen. And we will put a stop to it right here, right now.
“Let it be known, Anemie terrorism is inexcusable, and Vie find it intolerable. With the blessing of Nathan Abarron himself and by the determination of the three Judges, the sentence of death-by-torture will commence. Now.”
Marks smiled like he was introducing a game show and waved Scarface forward. Guess the scar served him well as executioner. No Anemie or human slave for that matter would for one second doubt the absolute rule of Vie. Fear would keep them in place. A back-up for trances.
My heart buzzed inside my chest like an angry hornet.
Scarface, wearing a smile bigger than Marks, tore my shirt open. Then, taking his time, he selected a knife from a tray of metal instruments. “I like to draw designs in skin. Let’s see how much I can get done before you p
ass out.”
I sucked in a breath, tightening my stomach. Blood rushed through me. I trembled on the hook, chain rattling with my body.
“Don’t worry. I won’t hit a major vessel by mistake. I want you to last as long as possible.” He touched the knife tip against my skin.
Slowly, he drew the blade left to right with his steady hand. He paused, then sliced me from a different angle. I held in a scream until I couldn’t.
He wiped the blade clean, grimacing at the camera. “If only this was decent blood.”
I grunted.
“Would you like to say something?”
“My blood is good enough for some of you.” Tears streamed down my face, mixing with sweat.
He laughed. “Still, you hang on to your lies. Not very smart.”
Scarface circled behind me, the camera following his movements with its reflective eye.
“An artist has been here before, and I was hoping for a clean canvas.” He traced his cold fingers along my burn scars.
I sucked in a shaky breath. “Unlike your face?”
“Keep talking. It gives me inspiration.” He slashed the knife between my shoulder blades.
I screamed again. Pixie brought the lens close to my face, capturing every whimper. I torqued my neck away.
Vincent said, “Let’s move on now to the next part of this, a most special, live-action event. While you’ve witnessed this Anemie learn his lesson, the Judges have questioned the other two inmates and deemed them guilty as well. Their punishment—exsanguination. We will cut away from the action happening here but will add a split screen if new developments occur. I promise you, dear viewers, you won’t miss one bloody moment.”
On Pixie’s cue, someone adjusted the spotlight trained on me to two tables being wheeled in. Martin lay strapped to one while Zack lay strapped on the other.
My stomach burned when I caught Zack’s open-faced, wide-eyed terror. It would have been better for him to die in the raid before he met Martin. Seemed a waste to survive that nightmare only to land in this one.
I called out to them.
They struggled against their restraints.
Dawn of the Vie (Immortal Aliens Book 1) Page 11